


Now That's a Baby!

by Yurusarenai



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Vore, Animal Death, Bestiality, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extreme Underage, F/M, Macros, Other, Unnatural Growth, Vore, anal rape, death by sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yurusarenai/pseuds/Yurusarenai
Summary: Benney is a growing boy. Literally, unnaturally, he is overtaken by a growth spurt that leaves him the biggest thing on the farm. And with no one to keep him in check, he decides to paint the town red. Possibly in the blood of its residents.
Relationships: Benney/Loula
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Now That's a Baby!

**Author's Note:**

> A commission for my friend [Comrade Questions](https://twitter.com/ComradQuestions) on Twitter. Thank you so much for the prompt, friend!
> 
> **This story isn't for the faint of heart. If graphic depictions of animals being om nom nommed isn't your cup of tea, you can go do something else.**

Benney was a growing boy. His foster parents were always remarking on how fast he moved from one size to the next, his clothes always one size too small. They told him what a strong man he’d one day become. Growth is natural for infants, something to be expected. However, what could never have been anticipated was the rate at which Benney grew.

He woke up one day and his crib was too small. His foster mother had said he’d be too big for a crib soon, now that he was a big boy. However, when he opened his eyes that morning, he was being squeezed between the wooden bars of the crib like it was a crab’s pinchers, tight enough he couldn’t even move his arms. 

“Let go!” he whined, doing his best to wiggle from side to side. 

His first thought was that this must be another one of Loula’s pranks. She was always trying to get his goat, and she was reasonably good at it. 

Benney kicked, and he heard a splintering crack. The crib was meant to contain babies of reasonable size, and when his foot collided the poor thing didn’t stand a chance. Once one end of the crib was properly eviscerated, it had no hope of holding together. It’s structural integrity was compromised, and only a few more thrashes from Benney sent the entire thing to an early grave. It fell to pieces around him, leaving him sitting in a pile of kindling. 

“Uh-oh,” Benney said. “Bed went night-night.”

Benney looked around the room, confused about how small everything was. Perhaps a fairy had come and replaced all his things in the night. His foster momma had said something about a tooth fairy, and this was maybe the kind of mischief they would get up to. 

“Momma!” he called. Even his voice sounded too big for the room, making the walls shudder with it. If his foster parents were still in the house, there was no chance they would sleep through that. 

Benney clambered to his feet, swaying. Everything felt strange and off and it was making him cranky. He didn’t like this new, smaller version of his room. He wanted out where the animals were. They always seemed to calm him down. 

“Breakfast time,” he said, trundling forward. 

Usually his foster momma was in the kitchen at this hour, filling the whole house with the scent and sizzle of sausage. However, this morning the griddle was cold and the table barren. Benney furrowed his brow in sharp disappointment.

“Loula? Momma? Playing hide and seek?”

If they were, they were very good at it. Benney sank to all fours so he could peek underneath the table. Yesterday he couldn’t see above it even if he stood on the very tips of his toes.

No Momma, no Dadda, no Loula. Everyone was gone. Had they already started their chores?

“I come find you,” he called.

As of yet, Benney wasn’t quite panicking. Things were weird, but a lot in his life was weird. He had arrived on the farm not that long ago, and he found that he loved it, even if having loving parents was unfamiliar. Change was the only constant in his young life, and he was ever hopeful for new games to play. 

Benney decided to go outside. There were lots more spaces to play there, and he thought maybe that was where his family was. He rose to his feet again and headed for the entrance. Here the doorway was smaller than he remembered it, and he had to duck so he wouldn’t bump his head and give himself a booboo. 

At least the air hadn’t changed. There was the unmistakable tang of animal in the atmosphere: cow, horse, pig, chicken. All sorts of critters called the farm home, a vast ecosystem too complex for Benney to comprehend. All he knew was that he liked to watch the animals as they went about their business eating and sleeping and fucking. 

The wide open spaces of the farm helped Benney feel small again. However, when he tried to get close to some sheep, he noticed that the beasts that once looked like enormous clouds had more in common with marshmallows, little white specks that bleated and fled on his approach.

“Hey!” Benney pouted. “Just wanna play. Don’t be shy!”

But the sheep didn’t listen. Fine. Benney had other ways to entertain himself. He noticed that one of the tractors, once so large and intimidating, was now just the right size for him to ride. He straddled it, sitting down so that the steel fabrication groaned under his weight. 

“Vroom vroom!”

He pushed himself along, forcing the tractor forward with his feet. The beleaguered machine had been properly parked, and its wheels groaned and gasped as they were forced forward, screaming as if in a desperate bid for mercy. 

Benney thought this was great fun. He’d seen Dadda driving the tractor, and now it was his turn. It was nice to take turns. It was also nice to feel like a big boy taking care of the farm. Benney drove the tractor into the garden, just as he’s seen Dadda do. The unwitting tomatoes never stood a chance. They were upturned in swaths, oozing red like open sores as Benney plowed through them.

“Okay, got my work done,” Benney said, looking back over the smashed fruits of his labor. His gaze landed on the barn in the distance. Out of sight out of mind, but in sight reminded him of how much he liked to play with the horsies. Giggling, Benney tromped towards the building, excited to see his old friends.

Inside the stable, his old friends weren’t very excited to see him, but that was mostly because they were too excited with each other. Avalanche was huffing and moaning, and at first Benney thought maybe he had grown, too, because he seemed so much taller than before. However, that was just because he was currently mounting his stablemate Buttercup. It was snowflakes on a golden field, a tangle of equine limbs. 

Benney had seen animals fuck before. It was part of living on a farm. At first he had found it funny, pointing and giggling at the animals when they did their silly wrestling matches. You didn’t see that kind of thing very often in the big city. However, as he got more used to it, the novelty wore off. It had become like seeing a pig roll in mud or chickens scratch at the ground: just something animals did to pass the time. 

What Benney saw this time stirred something within him. He had never felt like this before. The moaning, groaning, shuffling of the animals hit him like a warm punch to the gut, made him feel like he was floating in a bath. Curious, he toddled one step closer. He wanted to see those horses in action.

An argument can be made that horses are graceful creatures. People picture them trotting picturesquely through fields or standing windswept. While that is a far cry from every horse, it is especially untrue of horses in the act of copulating. That is when horses are at their least photogenic, long legs splayed awkwardly to line up, guttural sounds issuing forth. From his high vantage point, Benney couldn’t see the long, unwieldy genitalia coupling in an act that was more blunt force than passion. 

“Butta-cup!” Benney called, addressing Loula’s prized pony. While Benney liked to watch the animals from a distance, Loula was usually more hands on. She liked to bully them, and she had spent swathes of time riding Buttercup around, taking pleasure in bending the poor creature to her whims.

At the noise, Buttercup swivelled its head to see the enormous baby looming in the doorway. Mere animal or not, it had the good sense to freak the fuck out and flee. It shrieked and dodged past into the fields beyond, eager to distance itself from the now monstrously proportioned child. 

Benney’s little brain was too distracted by the other occupant to be hurt. Avalanche was far more docile than his companion, and after giving Benney a brief sniff, decided that he wasn’t a threat (a mistake that would turn out to be fatal). With an exhalation of air, the horse turned back to its hay. Avalanche was a plump horse, well fed and hardly worked around the farm. He liked his leisure, although apparently he could also be convinced to exert himself if it was for the sake of sex. His cock was still at full mast, engorged and wobbling with every shift of the creature’s body.

Even to Benney, now over ten feet tall, it was an impressive dick. He watched it, watched the way Avalanche flicked his tail across the bunny slopes of horse ass, and the stirring was back stronger. He thought about the funny thing the two horses had been doing, the sort of aborted leapfrog, and he wanted to try it. 

Giggling, he waddled over to the horse, who paid him no more mind than a flick of his ears. Avalanche was otherwise occupied, although very soon he would be occupied by none other than Benney’s quickly rising dicklet.

“It’s time foh your shot!” Benney said, shuffling forward so he could press into Avalanche’s hole.

This succeeded in getting the horse’s attention and then some. With a shriek, Avalanche tossed his head and tried to bolt away. However, Benney’s chubby child fingers, while not particularly strong, were now large enough to keep the terrified equine in place. 

Avalanche felt good. Benney had never experienced anything like it before, but it was almost akin to the feeling of itching a pesky bug bite and sinking into a warm bath rolled into one. Relief for an ache he didn’t know he had, satisfaction at finally satisfying it. He cooed and pressed in harder. 

His victim whinied and did his best to flee, but there weren’t any escape routes in the tiny stall. Forward wasn’t an option, behind was blocked. There was nothing for it but to endure and be in agony. 

On the other half of the coupling, Benney felt the inverse of agony. While he had as much energy as one would expect of a body so young, right now he felt more alive than ever. He felt too big for his skin, a pulsating energy that made him tremble and glow. Whatever this was, he never wanted it to stop, even as he chased the climax. This song under his skin wanted to sing, and the whole world was going to have to listen. 

Even though he couldn’t tell it was happening, an outside observer would have seen Benney begin to grow. A visible stretching, accompanied by a glow like starlight, barely visible in the barn, took hold of his body. Not a maturing, but an enlarging of his baby features, a magnification of all his tantrums and desires.

Poor Avalanche bore the brunt of it. While an onlooker could see the growth, Avalanche could  _ feel  _ it. Something was inside him and it was insistent on taking up more space than it had any right to. 

Opening his mouth, Avalanche let out a hoarse scream. It was the sound of a creature terrified and in pain, but to Benney it sounded playful. He had no way of knowing, of reading the frightened body language below him. Since Benney was enjoying this so much, he figured his four-legged friend was, too, and he decided to play harder. 

His thrusts were now accompanied by the sound of an animal that saw the end of its life looming on the horizon. Avalanche was past the point of no return, and now it was only a question of how gruesome his end would be.

The answer was very gruesome indeed. Death by dick, erupting from the inside out. Avalanche tore open like an overstuffed pinata, party favors for everyone present in the form of a rainstorm of red chunks. They splattered across Benney, and the force of the eruption, the explosion of horse becoming gravy, knocked Benney back into a red little puddle. 

The baby blinked, unable to comprehend what had just happened. One second he had been enjoying himself, surrounded by warmth and euphoria and looking down on a rippling white back. Now there were only red chunks splattered against the stable walls. He was left dripping in the remnants of horse essence.

Benney was still just a developing lad, and had barely figured out the concept of object permanence. It turned out his playmate had  _ not  _ been permanent, and the violation of one of the few tenuous rules of the universe that he actually understood felt like such a deep betrayal that instantly his face clouded over. He huffed under his breath, wiping at the remains on his face and doing little more than smearing them in a jelly red streak across his forehead. This wasn’t fair. He had been having fun, and now the fun had stopped.

“Avalanche?” he called, peering to see if perhaps the pony was hiding. But like everyone he had called out to that morning, he was met only with more stiff silence. Everyone was ignoring him.

Now Benney was properly upset and on the verge of boiling over into full blown tantrum. He heaved himself up and stomped around, chubby legs punishing the soil. The sex had stopped, and with it the tumultous growth that had overtaken him. But now that he was bigger, once again everything looked small and faraway. It felt lonely to be without the ants on the ground, and the baby stumbled outside in search of something that didn’t look so miniscule. 

Again the wide open spaces of the farm diminished his growth. Out here everything was spread out, naturally far away, and it felt more at home. However, that did little to ease his loss. He grumbled, searching for some new distraction, new stimulation, to help him feel good again.

In the distance (really not as far as it seemed, but his brain still read small as far) he spotted a golden dot on a grassy field. The other half of the copulating couple: Buttercup. The horse was busy nosing the ground, recovered from the shock of its encounter with the enormous baby, satiated with sex, and now trying to fulfill its other primal needs. Buttercup was as plump as its owner, and the spoiled horse ate often and abundantly. It was currently so nose deep in clover that it didn’t notice Benney’s approach, mistook the crunch of soil for the plodding of a cow. 

“Buttercup gonna play with me?”

This was enough to finally alert the horse, and instantly it went from laid back to all systems red. With a blaring bleat, the horse turned tail and ran. However, he had never been built for speed, and his years of snacking meant that the toddling toddler could easily keep pace. Woe was Buttercup, a life of hedonism dulling his survival instincts to a blunt edge. Eventually the horse found himself cornered against a fence, and though a more agile horse could have jumped it immediately, Buttercup found himself cornered. He was at the mercy of Benney, who unfortunately had no concept of mercy, only of want and impulse.

“How come you dancing?” Benney asked, chuckling at the horse’s trembling. 

He reached out one hand, fingers now the size of logs. With a shrill scream, Buttercup dodged under his legs. The horse was ready to run for its life, but Benney’s reach was long. It scooped the animal up. Now Buttercup’s legs kicked in the air, churning nothing but oxygen in its attempted flight for its life. Its distress was Benney’s pleasure. The baby giggled at the sensation of squirming in his hands. He could feel the hard outline of rib, the soft squish of organs, the machine gun firing of heart and lungs. 

“Wanna play airplane?” he asked.

It was a game his adopted father played, swinging Benney around by his arms so that the child could experience weightlessness. When Dadda did it, it was a magical experience filled with childlike wonder. Buttercup did not experience that same childlike wonder. Instead he felt pain.

Equine limbs twisted in ways they shouldn’t have, one of them cracking under the pressure. At this the horse screamed and flailed hard enough he almost squirmed out of Benney’s grasp.

“You so cute I could eat you up,” Benney said. 

He then proceeded to do just that. Chubby cheeks rippled as that cavernous mouth opened, craning wide and dangling the horse above it. Buttercup looked down into that abyss. What the creature saw, none will ever know for sure, but it must have been terrifying if the animal’s deranged screams were anything to go by. Slowly, as if his arm was a forklift slowly placing a key piece of architecture in place, Benney lowered the horse into his maw. Buttercup did not go quietly. He screamed and fought, doing his horsey best to call for help. None came. Mouth surrounded him, Benney’s lips closing.

The child had been given Pop Rocks once as a treat, and had delighted in the mini blitzkrieg in his mouth. This was a similar sensation, hoofs beating a one-two tempo against the interior of his puffy cheeks. A wild, frantic SOS, unheeded. 

Benney didn’t mean to kill the animal. It was just that once he had food in his mouth, it was hard not to swallow. A reflexive gulp, and down horsie went, kicking and screaming all the way. Benney could feel the slow trail, the plop as the creature hit his stomach still thrashing. Delicious.

Again pleasure metabolized into something else, a supernatural spurt of lengthening bones and enlarging baby. Benney didn’t yet have the lobes to realize there was a connection between his pleasure and his power, only knew that this felt  _ right.  _

But even the best of feelings couldn’t last forever. After only a few moments, the blissful sensation of growth faded, and he was left once again to chase his next high. 

Benney rubbed his tummy and smacked his lips, little brain thinking on what next to do. In the distance, he saw the familiar piebald blotch of mother cow and child, coupled together as one. In his time on the farm, his parents had fed him many a bottle of fresh milk, still containing a residue of warmth from the creature it came from. He remembered that sensation on his tongue, and with it the feeling of his adopted mother stroking his head, the feeling of being embraced and cared for. Benney didn’t yet realize that he would never experience that sensation again. He was now too big to be cradled by anyone, and would spend the rest of his life too large for the simple comforts of a mother and a lullaby. No, the only thing in Benney’s brain at the moment was the visceral connection of cow to milk, and how he wanted that.

“Hope you brought enough to share!” he said, stomping over. 

The mother cow looked at him with wide eyes, and were it not for the calf currently latched onto her, she would have made quick work of fleeing. As it was, she cowered over her baby, doing her motherly duty of protecting her offspring.

“ _ Moooo _ ve,” Benney said, prodding at the calf with one thick finger. 

He thought himself very clever for the pun, and considering he was a child who had barely been taught what sound cows made, cleverness probably qualified. But so did cruelty and the impulse to part foal from food source. When the baby animal didn’t respond to his demands (save to suckle with perhaps a bit more insistence, as if flaunting its position) Benney became angry. Benney’s momma had told him to always share. Those were the  _ rules,  _ and people—or cows—that didn’t obey them deserved a time out. 

“Mine!” Benney bellowed, batting one enormous hand with all the ferocity of a frustrated child up to bat at a softball game. He whacked against the calf and, much like the aforementioned softball, the poor creature was sent skyrocketing across the field. It landed out of sight, its fate unknown but surely miserable. 

“Milky time!” Benney chanted. 

He dropped to all fours with the grace of a drunk cat, plopping in front of a frozen mother cow. She had just witnessed her baby be turned into a homerun, and her brain wasn’t functioning enough to respond. All she could do was watch in horror as Benney extended pink tongue towards pink udder. There was still milk gathered around the edges of her teats like white condensation against glass. 

The udder rippled under the attention from Benney’s tongue, completely enveloped. He sucked the entire thing into his mouth, and with just the lightest bit of pressure from his lips he had an avalanche of farm fresh milk pouring down his greedy gullet. It really did taste better straight from the source. Completely organic, too. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t change the fact that the udder was still attached to the cow and very much was meant to face down. The best Benney could hope for was droplets on the dollar, and it wasn’t nearly enough for his big boy appetite.

“Twicky cow wants to keep all the milk for herself,” Benney said. His voice contained a threat and a promise, neither of which the poor creature understood. The best it could do was blink wide, round eyes at him and hope for mercy.

They were interrupted by the calf back for more. It was dragging itself, one leg trailing behind limp as overcooked pasta. However, pure thirst for mother’s milk was a powerful motivator, and not even wrathful baby could scare it off.

The calf bleated hopelessly. All it wanted was the warm embrace of a mother. Such was not to be. Instead, Benney turned and picked up the calf, movements staccato with frustration.

“Crybabies don’t get snacks,” he said.

It was a phrase he’d heard often from Loula, and while he didn’t mean it maliciously, in the moment all he wanted was for the calf to be silent and his tummy to finally feel full. He opened his jaw wide.

The calf was not as precognitive as Avalanche. It saw the teeth coming, but could not comprehend the end. What a surprise, then, when those viciously pink gums (just a hint of white bone peeking up in spots, the very first of what would be a disastrous teething season) closed around its middle and kept closing. The calf’s first brush with death was its own. It had very little life to flash before its eyes. Only happy moments with its mother, warm sun, the comfort of a barn to sleep in. No more. Now there was only warm baby mouth as final resting place.

Below, the mother cow was in absolute hysterics. She mooed as if trying to bargain her baby back from death. Benney did not understand, but even if he had, he likely wouldn’t have listened. Right now he was too busy enjoying the sensation of cow popping under pressure, like a ripe berry bursting in his mouth. A berry that had been sitting in the sun too long, perhaps, because it was warmer than the milk. It gushed and gooshed in his mouth, filling him up. His face wrinkled a bit at the taste. Perhaps not as palatable as milk had been, but certainly decent enough of an appetizer. 

Still Benney wanted more. His belly was so large that it was like trying to fill in a well with pebbles. He could toss as many scraps down it as it wanted, but the endless hole was no closer to being filled. 

He turned his attention back to the mother. She did not run, stood strong waiting for her baby to return. How was a simple cow to understand that the baby was no more? Ancient instinct was no guide here. Never before had there been such a scenario.

“Momma wanna be close to baby?” Benney asked. 

Of course she did. Benney understood the maternal instincts, had been on the other side of it. Wherever baby went, momma would follow, even unto death. 

Benney wrapped his hands around the cow and hefted. She was far more firm in his grip than the awkward accumulation of limbs that had been her child. Like this, he could finally get at her teats proper. With the cow hoisted above his head, he latched on and began to suck.

There wasn’t much left. Between baby both natural and unnatural, most of her supply had been tapped. Like someone sucking the last bits of milkshake up with a straw, Benney strained, desperate for more and certain it was there. The cow responded with limbs going every which way, almost as if it was attempting to swim in midair. 

Even if the milk had run dry, the sensation of suckling was soothing. Benney still slept with a pacifier, for even in sleep he had an insatiable urge to consume. An oral fixation that plagued him and now made him a monster. He could only be happy when something occupied his mouth and helped fill that never ending hole. 

He continued to suck. What was just teat in mouth eventually became legs, then torso, then cow in its entirety. What a nice sensation that was. Warm, full cow, bulging out his cheeks like he had decided to down an entire jawbreaker at once. Even his massive jaw was pushed to its limit, buckling under the strain, but Benney was determined. He sucked and sucked, and his throat stretched and the cow compressed and suddenly—

His mouth was empty again. A betrayal. A shame. The only thing that prevented full-blown toddler meltdown was finally seeing a familiar face.

Loula. While not his sister by blood, she occupied a similar niche in his life. Both had come to the farm at the same time, and Benney looked to her for wisdom and guidance. Usually what he got was unabashed bullying. However, he was relieved to see her, and he wasted no time in stomping her way. She was like a ray of sunshine breaking through cloud cover.

“Loula!” he called, giggling and walking with an extra bounce in his step.

As he got closer, he was surprised to find that Loula, despite being older, no longer towered over him. Instead, she only came up to his chest, and that was including the height added by her pigtails. She craned up to look at him, and the look on her face was far, far away from pleasure.

Loula had a very eventful morning of her own. After all, even though she was shorter, she was still many magnitudes bigger than a two year old child had any right to be. Much like Benney’s misadventures, she had indulged, she had caused violence, she had grown. However, this story is focused on Benney, so her strange journeyings are beyond our ken. Her part in this story starts with a scowl and hands on her hips.

“You got big, too?” Benney asked, finger going to his mouth.

“What does it look like?” she sneered. “Of course I got bigger, stupid.”

“Momma and Dadda get bigger, too?”

Benney was longing for the familiar sight of his parents. If they had gotten big, too, then they could be a big family together. All the little animals could be their friends. It would be like a dream come true.

“I haven’t seen either of them,” Loula snapped. “And don’t you think if they were big we’d be able to see them?”

Benney had not considered that. It broke the confines of his little baby mind. While he pondered it, Loula looked him up and down with angry eyes. She had always had a competitive streak. When she was so much older, she was used to coming first in everything with ease. She was more coordinated, much larger physically, and had a better developed brain. However, now Benney was better than her in something. He was better at being big. She would not stand for it. 

“What have you been eating?” she demanded. “How come you got big so fast?”

Immediately, Benney flashed back to his most recent meal. He was pretty sure that if it was discovered that they were now down one cow, he would be in trouble. That was to say nothing of eating Loula’s precious prized pony whom she loved more than anything in the world. 

“I haven’t eaten anything,” Benney replied. 

Loula’s eyes narrowed. Even this far away from the barn, she could smell bull. 

“Have you seen Buttercup?” she asked.

“No!” Benney responded with an immediacy that aroused suspicion.

“Reeeeally?” Loula asked. Her bottom lip puckered out in a sharp line of anger. “Because I’ve been looking for him and I can’t find him.”

“Haven’t seen him.”

“Yes you have,” Loula said. “I can see it in your eyes. Tell me where he is!”

Benney opened his mouth to issue more denials, but what came out instead was a massive belch. He hadn’t been burped in a while, and all the different ingredients in his stomach had made quite a stew. What came up was Buttercup’s personalized saddle, complete with an embossing of the departed creature’s name in gold stitching.

Loula’s reaction was immediate. Her mouth dropped open, a circle of horror. That quickly morphed into fury.

“Benney!” she screeched. “How could you? He was  _ mine.  _ If anyone was gonna eat him, it should have been me!”

Like all small children, the full force of her fury mostly amounted to a stomping of feet and bubbling of tears—crocodile or otherwise. She whined her displeasure, saying how unfair Benney was and how much trouble he would surely be in when their parents found out. Loula was smart enough to understand that normal sized guardians no longer had any influence over them, giants as they were, but she was also cunning enough to hope the threat could frighten her more gullible cohort. 

No such luck. Benney had no fear of their parents, since the elderly couple had always been so kind to him and scoldings were infrequent and nice. Mostly he just blinked at Loula’s fury and waited for it to pass, the same as waiting for a sprinkle of rain to spend itself before he could go outside to play. Even under the best of circumstances, Loula was more smoke than fire, but now that he loomed over her, he found it hard to imagine that she had ever had any sway over him.

“Maybe I can be the daddy now and you can be baby,” he said.

This was the final straw for Loula. She threw her hands up, made a few final pouts, then left. This returned Benney to his previous predicament: being alone and without any sort of supervision. Unfortunately, such an enormous baby didn’t have much to do besides get in trouble, and he wasted no time in seeking it out.

The chickens were out in full force at this time of day, working over the field for choice morsels and plump bugs. They weren’t Benney’s favorite animals, as usually they were too stupid to play with and didn’t do much interesting. However, there was an exception for the babies.

Chicks were, if nothing else, exuberant. At his current size, they were little more than brightly colored jelly beans bobbing away beneath him. When he approached, even the jelly beans were smart enough to scatter. The troop of chicks made for the coop in a flurry of down, escorted by their panicking parents.

“Come back!” Benney yelled. “Just wanna play.”

The chicks did not share his enthusiasm. They holed up in their coop, praying for the wooden walls to protect them. It didn’t work. Benney grabbed onto the top of the coop and lifted it off the ground. Inside, the poultry panicked, squawking and throwing up a barrage of feathers. One enormous baby eye peeked through the opening.

“Cock a doodle doo! Time to wake up!” Benney crowed. 

Then he tipped the coop, rattling it around like a cardboard packet of candy so that the contents bashed against each other. Many of the older, wiser birds were certain this was death. They had learned on the farm that it was only a matter of time before the grim reaper came with a craving for chicken. However, usually executions were swift, orderly. This was anything but. This was clucking chaos. 

The baby’s mouth craned wide outside the enclosure, pink and hungry. Mothers tried to save their children, plopping down on top of the chicks and trying to prevent them from sliding towards that cavernous maw. Even the strongest of maternal instincts couldn’t protect them.

Instead of the old being the first to go, this time it was the young. The tiny birds, with claws too weak to grab on and too uncoordinated to find purchase, slid towards the opening and that waiting mouth. One by one they were shaken out and landed into Benney’s eager maw. He chomped down, enjoying the way they cracked between his teeth like a crisp cracker. However, their texture was all fluff. Soft on the outside, crispy on the inside. A combination that didn’t happen in any other culinary concoction. It was happening inside Benney’s mouth. 

“Cwunchy munchy,” he said, cheeks pillowed like a squirrel. No one was around to remind him that it was impolite to chew with his mouth full. Well, perhaps the chicks, who tried to remand him with the chorus of a thousand screams, but Benney wasn’t really listening to them. Also he didn’t speak chick.

Giggling, he crunched down and enjoyed the feel. It was like a party in his mouth, but the only one who was having any fun was him. 

As the supply of baby bird in his mouth dwindled, Benney decided to move on to greener pastures. Literally. He stomped over to the next pasture over, barn animals fleeing before him in terror. It sounded like Noah’s ark had run aground amidst all the creature cries. To Benney, it was like all his friends were calling out to him.

“Hewe I come!” he said. 

A flock of chickens caught his eye. It was the same coop he had recently evicted and partially devoured. They lurked out of reach, squawking still over their slain brethren but too… chicken to do anything about it. Instead they were a chorus of disgruntled clucking, puffing up their feathers and daring Benney to mess with them again. It was a dare he was eager to try.

He stomped towards them, arms outstretched and giggling. The chickens responded by scattering like a feather pillow being put through a jet engine. They went every which way, screaming all the while. 

“Come back!” Benney hollered after them. 

He trundled after, his long legs allowing him to catch up with a chicken here or there—and to keep going. He steamrolled the chickens, chasing them like ants and squashing them with the same casual disregard. The little crunches they made were almost inaudible to him, he was so high up in the air. It was a lot of fun, catching the little chicky-wickies between his toes and reducing them to viscera. To him it was a game, and he hopped about from chicken to chicken giggling all the while. The other farm animals stopped to look on in horror as their own were executed. Their instincts told them how to fight against predators, but never before had animals encountered a predator like this. One that killed for mirth, not meals, but also without malice. Also apparently without any concept of death, for to Benney the animals didn’t stop being alive so much as stopped being there. 

“Chickies get boring,” he said after a while, stopping to wipe his feet on the grass. He left a red streak as wide as a picnic blanket. 

In the distance, Loula was on a quest of her own. Benney’s victory over her had her smarting. Really the other child had meant no offense, but Loula was not the type to take any indignity in stride. She was a creature that quested for power, and she was willing to take it in both hands and wrench its neck if it didn’t go her way. 

A target presented itself in the form of man’s best friend. Trigger was busy doing doggish things, defecating in a bush and planning his next romp through the farm. He imagined a good running of the sheep was in order, and then after that perhaps he could join the pigs in soiling himself in mud. All that changed when Loula appeared on the horizon, stomping and making the ground shake.

Trigger was a good boy. He loved his humans and generally didn’t cause a ruckus. However, upon seeing Loula in all her oversized glory, he began barking like a hound from hell, snarling and baring his teeth.

“Bad dog!” Loula scolded, shaking her finger. “No bark!”

Trigger did not listen. Perhaps he couldn’t understand her deeply thunderous voice, now barely recognizable as human. In retaliation, Loula swatted at him. That was all it took to convince him to turn tail and run. He headed for his dog house, hoping plywood walls could provide sanctuary. Unfortunately for him, Loula was not deterred.

“Heel!” she snapped. She had heard Papa toss around the command, and the hound had always obeyed him with a sort of magnetic loyalty that only dogs could command. “Come on Trigger, come out or you’re really gonna get it!”

Trigger decided to take his chances indoors. He had never liked Loula even when she was the proper size. She was always too eager to pull on ears and tail, and whenever he tried to snap at her in annoyance he was scolded. She was a thing of imminent injury against which he was not allowed to protect himself. He cowered in the confines of his space.

“This is the last time I’m gonna ask!” Loula said, imitating the tone of Momma when one of the children was misbehaving. She was large now, which meant she got to call the shots with the same self-assured authority the adults had. She wanted Trigger to come out, so he  _ would.  _

Except he didn’t. And when he didn’t, her itty bitty fuse burned down.

“That’s  _ it.  _ Here comes the punishment!”

Loula turned around and presented her sizeable posterior like the world’s roundest bludgeon. She backed towards the doghouse and then descended upon it like a meteor from the sky. It was a weapon of ass destruction against which canine could not hope to survive. 

Fortunately Trigger was a farm dog, and used to responding with agility to cow hoof and bull horn. He dodged out of the dog house just as it was reduced to wood shavings and dust, the thud enough he could feel it in his bones. Meanwhile Loula was left coughing, hacking bits of pulverized wood from her lungs. 

By the time the dust cleared, Trigger was well on his way to an escape. This only served to infuriate Loula. With a screech, she hauled herself to her feet and shook like a dog, doing her best to dislodge the shrapnel of splinters currently making residence in her ass. 

“Trigger is a BAD. DOG.”

She stomped after him, a red-faced, snarling vision of fury. Poor Trigger never even stood a chance. Despite the hound’s best efforts, he only managed to get a few lengths away before she snatched him up in one doughy fist. 

Trigger flailed, a snarling flash of claws and teeth. In response Loula transferred her grip to his tail, dangling him above her like a fish on a string. Her mouth opened wide, tongue flapping like a pink sail in wind. Really she didn’t have much intention besides antagonizing him. Cruelty for cruelty’s sake, riling him up for her own amusement. But then in his wild worried kicking, one foot slipped into her mouth. Dog claws squished against the dimpled surface, soft and squishy like some undiscovered creature of the deep sea. Trigger regretted his decision immediately. 

After a hard day of dogging, Trigger’s foot tasted like dirt and grass from his roaming. Rather than repulse, Loula savored the flavor. She was always being demanded to be more ladylike, to not put this or that in her mouth, she was a big girl and needed to act like it. Well now that she  _ was  _ a big girl, she wanted nothing more than to put every forbidden substance in her mouth and chew.

Playful teasing turned to experimental sucking. Giant, puffy lips wrapped themselves around Trigger’s leg. It was like being given a bath in bogwater, and the dog whimpered.

Trigger tasted like chicken. Not the brown little nuggets that were pulped and processed beyond recognition, the ones mama fed her at lunch. No, Trigger tasted like  _ real  _ chicken, fresh and juicy and squirmy. She would know, since she had spent that morning stomping after several chickens and stuffing them down her gullet. Her tongue contoured over that surface as she lightly sucked.

Trigger whimpered. The poor beast was too terrified to even whimper properly, instead tucking his tail between his legs and hoping to some dog god that this would be over and done with quickly. 

Well, you know what they say. Dog god works in mysterious ways. It was indeed over quickly, but not in the canine’s favor. 

Loula bit down. She did it with the same fervent ferocity of a kid trying to chomp all the way through a jawbreaker. The only difference was that her jaws were up to the task. Poor Trigger’s bones had all the structural integrity of pixie sticks under the strain of her molars.

While the dog was in pain, the girl was in ecstasy. She closed her eyes to enjoy the taste of fresh meat. This gave Trigger his chance. He flailed and managed to wriggle loose of her grip, dropping to the ground with a wet, three-legged plop. Even mangled as he was, he wasted no time in dragging himself away, clawing forward and eventually regaining his feet. 

Dogs are unfairly gifted compared to humans when it comes to the loss of a limb. A human sans one leg is very disadvantaged, but a dog with only one leg gone can still hobble quite efficiently on three. This Trigger did now, bounding as best as he was able. 

However, Loula was not about to let something she considered hers escape. She was territorial of her possessions, and poor Trigger belonged in her belly. With an undignified squawk, she trundled after him. He barely managed to get a few car lengths away from his original position before she leaned down and scooped him up. Now he only had three legs to kick with, and not a chance in hell of escaping.

“Bad dog,” Loula scolded, shaking him slightly. 

Trigger let out a sound of fear. The poor pup was terrified enough that he peed himself ever so gently in her grasp. This did nothing to discourage Loula. She opened her mouth wide, catching droplets, and went for leg number two. After all, the first leg was lonely in her stomach. 

In a surprising show of manners, she nibbled on the next appendage gently, crunching on the bone like a lady nibbling a biscuit. Trigger was beyond screaming at this point. The poor creature huffed and drooled as less and less of it existed.

On the other end of the spectrum, Loula was becoming larger. And not just in the general sense of “gorged herself and now her stomach was full.” She was growing even as she crunched away. She paused to smack her lips every now and then, the sound like the wet slapping of enormous fish trying to fuck.

She had had enough of appetizers. It was time for the main event. Loula craned her mouth wide, and it was like a void opening in the sky. She shoved Trigger in, sucking on the pup’s head. The great vacuum demanded more of the dog, sucking him further and further in. He slid, greased by saliva and without a leg to stand on. As he careened down her throat, he threw his head back and gave a long howl. It was the last instincts of wolf, a longing for the open sky that he would never see again. Deep in Loula’s stomach there was a plop and a hiss, and that was the last Trigger was heard of.

Meanwhile Loula was busy sucking the remnants off her fingers. Trigger was absolutely finger-lickin’ good, and she didn’t want to miss a drop. It wasn’t just the taste, though. It was the feeling of power, of having taken this creature that had once dominated and scared her, and turning the tables so completely. Trigger could never scare her again. Nothing could scare her. She was unstoppable, undefeatable. The thought made her swell with pride—literally. The growth overcame her. Just like Benney, she grew and grew (although she was still far behind her adopted brother in height).

It wasn’t enough. As long as Benney was bigger, she would never be best, and that was the only spot she craved. She would keep consuming until her goals were accomplished. 

Even at the tender age of two, she was an ambitious person. In another life, she would have been terror in a “Toddlers and Tiaras” pageant. As it was, she was terror enough on the farm. By now, all the animals knew to steer clear of her. They heard rumbling in the distance and dove for cover. 

Such was the case with the chickens, who cowered in their coop and prayed, much like the Israelites with blood above their door, that this vengeful spirit would pass over them. Loula did not pass over them. She stuck her head straight into the coop itself. It was a tight fit with a noggin as large as hers. It also effectively blocked the exit. No one in, no one out, not even Loula. When she tried to extract herself she was met with the creak of wood. 

Whatever. It wasn’t urgent. She would worry about getting herself out after she’d accomplished why she’d forced her way in here in the first place. Right now she needed to eat.

Unfortunately, only her head had made it inside, her useful arms pinned in the opening. She had nothing with which to scoop the swarming chickens into her waiting mouth. However, the coop was small, and the chickens in their frenzy were doing a lot of her work for her. All she had to do was open her mouth and crane forward, scooping up mouthfuls of chicken. 

In the game closet on the farm, there was a copy of “Hungry, Hungry Hippos.” Loula loved that game. She liked the simplicity, the visceral feedback of watching those balls disappear down the maw of her hippo avatar. It was also one of the games that she could always beat Benney at, since he didn’t have the hand-eye coordination built up yet to be a contender. 

Instead of balls she was devouring chickens, but the principle was the same. She could strain forward, closing her mouth and hoping something would get inside. More often than not, something did. There was just such a high density of chickens. Throw a stone, hit a chicken. Take a bite, hit a chicken. 

Inside the coop it was bliss. Loula was gorging herself, painting the walls red with her furious munching. Outside the coop, her posterior waggled in glee. She was channeling her inner dog, and it showed in the way she swung lightly from side to side. Just like a mutt, she didn’t have a care in the world, was so focused in her task of eating that she didn’t care to think about anything else. She had no idea how thoroughly exposed she was. 

Meanwhile Benney was still roaming the farm, searching for his next high. The last one had worn off, leaving him a cranky mess of a baby. It was long past due for his nap, and all the excitement of the morning meant he was wearing thin. But he was still a child, so doing the sensible thing like laying down and going to sleep was never an option. He needed more stimulation to keep him going.

He saw it—his next conquest. It came in the form of Loula’s bright pink underwear poking out from underneath her skirt. It was a sight for sore eyes—the glimpse of an old friend’s delicates. It wasn’t the first time Loula had indecently exposed herself. She was far from a lady, and often spent plenty of time crawling around on the ground searching for stray crumbs or other things to jam in her mouth. However, Benney had never felt this way when looking on the sharp divot of her crack before. It was that tickle, the one he had just become acquainted with today and was quickly becoming his drug of choice.

Benney was too young to have a name for this burn beneath his skin. If he had been an adolescent, or perhaps an old-timey protestant woman decrying the woes of modern society, he would have known this tickle as lust. The driving, insatiable need to satisfy himself, no matter the cost to others, but along with that was coupled the childlike curiosity of someone who just wanted to explore and stick their fingers where they did not belong. 

And oh did he want to stick his fingers in that plush rump. It waved like a hypnotist’s pendulum. 

Benney had a bit of a mischievous streak, or at the very least he was far more creative than a mere child had any right to be. Upon seeing Loula proffered and easy pickings, he searched around for something to mix things up with. He spied a little piglet, too young and dumb to understand the danger, shuffling around in the dirt nearby. Benney had a plan.

He scooped up the piglet, soft and wiggling in his grasp. The thing gave out a querrolous grunt, incapable of understanding what was holding it. Never before had it seen a human this large. 

While Benney was years away from cooking his own meals, he knew what pigs in blankets were. You took a little bit of sausage and shoved it inside a bun. Here he had sausage, and there was a bun. 

“Hope you’re hungie!” he said, pulling pig back and then thrusting forward. His aim was true, and the pig pierced panties and kept going. Straight up her chute, stuck halfway so that curly tail and feet poked out.

“Benney!” Loula screamed. Even without looking she knew he was the culprit.

Reflexively, she plopped down, popping the piglet like an overripe berry in the jaws of a voracious bird. Pig splashed across her rear end, painting it fire engine red. It was enough to rile Benney up even more than before. Something about the blood, outlining that hole so red and inviting. He wasn’t conscious of anything else other than this desire to push forward, to be buried inside her. Not malicious, just curious.

Meanwhile, Loula was doing her best to extract her head from the coop. It was high time to head out, so to speak, as she had exhausted most of the resources in her honeyhole. That and she knew something bad was coming, and more than anything she hated being helpless. 

Benney prodded in. The way was slicker than, to be crude, a greased pig, and even though Loula’s hole was unchartered territory, it welcomed him with little resistance. Soft, slick, burning hot, hot, hot. He was quite enjoying himself. On the other hand, Loula was not. She couldn’t see what was going on, but she felt every agonizing inch of it. Now that Benney was so big, there were a significant amount of inches to sink inside her. 

Loula thrashed against the confines of the coop, trying to break out of her container. Unfortunately, the construction was sound, and she could not snap the sturdy wooden beams.

It burned. Like fire, like a bee sting, like a sharp smack from Momma when she had been naughty. Distantly, she was glad that her head was covered so that Benney could not see her cry. 

It’s questionable as to whether her tears would have halted her assaulter, though. Benney was enjoying himself too much to notice her distress.

The stimulation was triggering the change again, activating whatever alien power made him get bigger. His pants were mixed with giggles, the sounds of pleasure and mirth and child-like joy. To him this was a game, and the end goal was to pump Loula full. The growth was definitely helping to accomplish that, making him swell larger and larger inside her. The result was pressing against her insides. However, she was spared from the same fate as dearly departed Avalanche. Instead, through the pain she was filled with a wave of pleasure, making her grow with him. The two shot up in synchronicity. 

This finally did in the beleaguered chicken coop. With a crack like the felling of a mighty tree, it burst apart. So many buildings on the farm had been demolished that day, and the air was practically hazy with all the sawdust in the air. This particular destruction was accompanied by the snow white fall of feathers, all that was left of the residents. They scattered around the locked Loula and Benney, as if the murdered remains of an angel.

Properly satiated, Benney pushed himself off Loula. She was left to collapse in a heap on the ground, feeling as if she had just been speared in two. The girl had no idea how lucky she was that she merely felt that way, as others that day had met a less kind and more literal fate.

“Fanks for playing!” Benney said, turning around to leave.

He rubbed his tummy and was already looking for his next thrill, and didn’t even take the time to notice that Loula was sniffling and doing her big girl best not to cry. At that she was failing. Tears trickled down her face. They were large enough that they hit the ground with an audible  _ plip,  _ soaking it. For years after, the place where her tears landed would grow no vegetation, the salt making the soil barren. The visible scars of her anguish, burned into the place where her face pillowed against the earth. 

Not even chicks were left to view her grief. She had eaten everything in sight.

Meanwhile Benney was bustling about, searching for something with which to stuff his belly. Fucking took a lot of energy, and he was properly hungry now. However, he was also large enough that nothing looked filling. It was the fate of all small town boys, to eventually outgrow their surroundings. Unfortunately for him, it happened before his frontal lobe closed. 

It was at that moment, as Benney was struggling with the new reality that he was now too big for his humble beginnings, that he finally spotted his foster parents. Momma and Dadda had been horrified spectators to the day’s activities, watching from their window. They’d had a tumultuous day of their own, the entirety of which we do not have time to recount here, but suffice it to say they had good cause to be absent from the first half, and for the latter half they had seen their now gargantuan adoptees stomping around and had been too terrified to step foot outside. 

However, they had finally gathered their wits and their supplies and were determined to hit the road and not look back. They were busy loading supplies into their old pick up, tossing in whatever they could think to grab.

Benney wasn’t smart enough to process the implications. To him, he saw a familiar sight and wanted to get close. Giggling, he threw his arms wide and stomped towards them. At long last, all his problems would be solved! He would be with Momma and Dadda, and they would take care of him.

Poor idiot child could not comprehend why his loving parents recoiled in horror, why their jaws dropped and their eyes bugged. Crusty Dadda, with his sunken cheeks and hook nose, went pale as a skeleton. Meanwhile Momma brought her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream. They saw their oncoming monster of a child, and they turned tail and ran. 

The pickup truck was their salvation. They piled in, slamming the door shut with a metallic crack. From there it was a wild fumbling at the mechanics. Throwing off the parking brake, putting it into gear, slamming on the gas pedal like it was a particularly distasteful spider in need of stomping. The truck shuddered and burped, and for a suspended second looked like it might refuse to comply. But then there was the chug and the turn of tires, a dustcloud erupting behind it as it heaved forward. 

“Wait!” Benney called. “Don’t forget me!”

He did not understand. How could he be so big, and yet his parents still couldn’t see him? He was finally a good size, no longer always tucked away and forgotten in the folds of bigger scapes. He was the point of interest in every scene he occupied, bigger even than the house. So why were they leaving him? He stomped after, pudgy face growing red and upset.

The truck roared onto the road, tires finally gripping onto something more firm than farm soil. It was clear sailing for them, because even Benney’s enormous stride couldn’t keep up with a car blazing full throttle down open highway. That didn’t stop him from trying, of course, toddling after and calling out. He was certain that if only he could yell loud enough, they would notice, they would turn back, they wouldn’t just leave him here. But they didn’t. They picked up speed and cruised, the gap between baby and parents widening.

As they rocketted down the tar-lined road to freedom, they blazed past a car going the opposite direction. The poor folks inside couldn’t see past the truck for the cloud of dirt behind it, but soon a figure emerged through the debris, a dark outline the size of a silo and growing as it approached. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time for them to reverse course. The best they could do was slam on the brakes and come to a screeching halt. 

Like all children, it didn’t take much to distract Benney from his despair. He saw a shiny car in front of him and his brain switched to play. He snatched it up and pushed it back and forth, making  _ vroom vroom  _ sounds.

To him it was great fun. To the people inside it was the end of the world. They screamed in terror. Their tiny little voices barely reached Benney. To him, they seemed less like people and more like one more toy to use as he pleased. 

“I’m gonna park you in my garage!” he said. 

With no more fanfare, he proceeded to drive the car where the sun didn’t shine, right up his baby chute. It wasn’t easy going, but Benney sat down and let the force of gravity do the work to pack it in there hard. The thing disappeared from sight, covered up with the marshmallow pillows of baby rump. What happened to the residents no one knew, but their fate certainly could not have been pleasant.

Now that that dark deed was done, Benney was ready to go on his way. Some distant part of his brain still wanted to locate his parents, amidst other thoughts of sex and food. Whatever he was searching for, he knew the farm had nothing left for him. He was on to greener pastures— or more accurately, it was on to urban jungles, where real havok could be unleashed. He proceeded down the road, leaving behind footprints as large as craters in the road. 

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaand there you have it, the first part in Benney's saga. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
